The last fire
that raped my city,
like a vicious, angry beast,
hungry for skin
and beautiful things,
left two pictures
in my mind that I will
never forget,
even when years eat
my memory.
A picture of a rabbit.
Its front furry feet are curved
to the back, its two back feet
are all stretched,
as it lays on the ground,
mouth agape,
eyes wide open,
fur burnt to the roots.
It was the last jump.
A picture of a turtle.
Its shell is dark green and
black and ashes.
Hiding its head,
it thought fire doesn't touch
everything.
It died in silence,
in silent agony.
It was their last race.
The sad ending of
my childhood story.
